The Life of Love
By Kahlil Gibran
Spring Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its Slumber
and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops
to draw Inspiration high above the cool green plains.
Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees;
and They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of the
Night of Kedre. The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other
like Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of Nature,
like foam from the rich heart of the sea.
Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's Tears
from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.
Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Summer Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
Are ripening the grain.
Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the Spirit
nourishes the grains of Joy from the Seeds of Love,
sowed deep in our hearts.
Let us fill our bins with the products of Nature,
as life fills so abundantly the Domain
of our hearts with her endless bounty.
Let us make the flowers our bed, and the Sky our blanket,
and rest our heads together
Upon pillows of soft hay.
Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
To the provoking murmur of the brook.
Autumn Let us go and gather grapes in the vineyard
For the winepress, and keep the wine in old Vases,
as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the Ages in eternal vessels.
Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
Have made pilgrimage to warmth and lest the chilled
Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
And myrtle have no more tears.
Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
Are drained of their copious weeping; and
Their cautious old hills have stored away
Their colourful garments.
Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
With quiet and contented melody.
Winter Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter.
Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door. Bind the door and seal the transoms,
for the Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my Spirit,
and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.
Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.
Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing
the Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
And Summer's watchful tending,
and Autumn's Reward in harvest.
Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul;
the Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness;
the lamp is Dim, and the wine
which we pressed is closing Our eyes.
Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me;
let Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.
You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
And how recent was the dawn!